


Red and Yellow Roses in Spring

by Beeker



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Love is a battlefield, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9287582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beeker/pseuds/Beeker
Summary: Among the corpses of both friend and foe, amid ice and fire, the last two warriors battled on.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Total fanfare and many feels. No apologies.
> 
> I wrote this as a simple one-shot, but the creative process (and some good-natured peer pressure) had other ideas. It currently stands as the final chapter in my GOT fic "I Mean To Steal Me That Woman". It is by no means "required reading".
> 
> I just really wanted to post it as it was originally intended. I'm sentimental like that.

 

 

In his mind's eye Bran flew over The Battle for The Dawn. Man and boy, raven and wolf, the embodiment of past, present and future.

Jon had escaped the hordes of undead, wielding Lightbringer, the Dragon Queen and her children by his side. They approached the Night King and now the end was upon them. _Or is it the beginning? I should be there._

Bran was drawn instead to the expansive field of darkness where the true heroes of this war had fought and died. He soared overhead, seeing their faces float up and knowing them all as well as his own. _There are so many_. His uncle Benjen. The Kingslayer and The Imp. The Hound. Thousands of Dothraki Blood Riders. Sam and Edd of The Night's Watch. The Crannogman. Nymeria, his sister Arya's direwolf, and her entire pack. Grey Worm and an army of Unsullied. Four of Prince Oberyn's bastard daughters. The old Onion Knight.

Among the corpses of both friend and foe, amid ice and fire, the last two warriors battled on. There was an essence of magic to the way they moved, covered in blood and ash, enemy after enemy falling to his axe or her sword.

Fluid and seamless, as if of one body.

Tactful and adept, as if of one mind.

Passionate and protective, as if of one heart.

A White Walker stalked closer, unnoticed until his blade plunged deep into the side of Tormund Giantsbane. The Wildling's cry was muted by the howling wind, yet Brienne of Tarth appeared to hear him all the same. She pivoted toward them with Valyrian steel raised high above her head. Then the lady warrior brought down her sword hard and the White Walker shattered into a million tiny pieces.

 _Ice._ Father's voice echoed loud in Bran's ears. _Winter is coming_.

Brienne dispatched the final few wights with new found vigor, though it bought precious little time. More scurried from the shadows - a massive legion armed with only coldness and death.

“Woman,” Tormund struggled to his feet, breathing heavily, a hand pressed to his wounded side. Dark blood seeped through leather and fur and from between his fingers. He smiled at her, tender and full of adoration.

His woman shook her head, unwilling to resign herself to the cruel fate that lay before them.

Time stopped the moment they embraced, lips meeting in a rough and desperate kiss. _The first and the last_.

Tormund and Brienne carried on, side by side, until the enemy's numbers swelled beyond measure. He fell first and without any regret. She fell soon after, her final thoughts lingering on that shared kiss.

 _Family_. Mother's proud voice replaced Father's. _Duty_. _Honor_.

When the snows clear and the grass turns green, their sacrifice will be remembered. Not in stories and songs. By the old gods. Bran saw it in the distance, on the cusp of what was and what would be, even as their bodies lay broken and bloodied on the battlefield. _Red and yellow roses will bloom here in Spring. And in all the Springs to come._


End file.
